Harry descended the stairs cautiously, the stranger’s footsteps echoing below him in the darkness. The man did not hesitate, nor did he look back. He moved as one familiar with the building, confident in his direction. Harry tightened his grip on the railing and followed, unsettled by the certainty of the stranger’s stride.

Harry resisted calling out to the stranger as he moved as if he was on special pursuit that did not involve trying to enter the theatre for free. The stranger had to know what he was doing.

The stranger only stopped briefly at the actors dressing rooms – just stuck his head in the door and then departed. If theft was on his mind, he did not show it as his purpose.

With that the stranger turned to his left and headed up the staircase on the other side of the dressing rooms, which would take him to the backstage area. Did he intend to run out on the stage during the performance Harry wondered. Or was it something more sinister.

The stranger did not stay backstage and it now appeared he was trying not to be seen by the actors. Again, he did not linger there long and he headed out into the hallway that would take him into the theatre itself. At one point, the stranger looked back to see if he was being followed, but Harry thought he ducked into a doorway before he was noticed. At least he hoped he did.

When Harry dared to stick his head back out to see the stranger, the man was gone. Harry quickened his step to catch up. He just caught the stranger ascending steps that would take him up to the area reserved for dignitaries. With new apprehension, Harry hurried up the stairs where he caught a glimpse of the stranger again. The man had stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face the lighting in the staircase. And that’s when Harry saw a flash of steel.

A gun of some sort, perhaps a derringer. The man was checking the bullet in the gun. And that is when Harry recognize the man.

“John?” Harry said. “What pray tell are you doing, sir?”

The voice startled the stranger. He looked down the staircase to see Harry looking up at him.

John walked partly back down the staircase. “Evening, Harry,” John said. “Forgive me, my dear friend, you surprised me.”

Harry walked up the stairway to where John was standing. He noticed John was sweating profusely, odd for the cold night.

“I saw you go in the back door, John,” Harry replied. “I thought you were somebody trying to sneak in to see the show for free, if you can imagine that. I had no idea it was you.”

“Just me,” John replied. “I was supposed to meet a young lady here tonight to watch the play and I’m afraid I am running late due to the nasty weather outside.”

“Yes, the weather has been a fright I’m afraid. Who is it you are supposed to meet and I will escort you to that box.”

“You don’t need to do that, Harry. I’m well acquainted with the theatre and where I need to be.”

“Very well, John, I will leave you now. Have a nice evening, or at least what’s left of it.”

Harry turned around to descend the stairway. He hadn’t got as far as the first step when he felt something enter his back. Pain flashed through him as the knife made repeated strokes into his back. He slumped against the wall trying to keep his balance lest he fall down the stairs. He was having trouble breathing. His world was turning black. He crumpled to the floor. With his last thoughts, Harry wondered why he was being murdered. That was the worst of it. Not the pain. Not the darkness. But the absence of reason.

John stood over him, the knife glinting in the dim hallway light. He reached down to clean the blood off his knife on Harry’s shoulder.

With that, he stuck the dagger back into its sheath and turned to ascend the stairs again.